


Book One : Winter is coming!

by Olivia_DE



Series: Dracarys [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Catelyn bashing, Consensual Underage Sex, Conspiracy, Death, F/F, F/M, Good Viserys, Incest, Jon Snow Has a Twin Sister, M/M, Mention of torture, Multi, Murder, Rape, Sane Viserys, Secrets, Underage Sex, alive viserys, joffrey baratheon is a bastard, ned stark is an idiot, not so sane JonCon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24665986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olivia_DE/pseuds/Olivia_DE
Summary: Jon Snow wasn't the only bastard Eddard Stark has brought home.The game opens and there are people who find themself dangled in the web of lies, conspiracy and power plays.Their story begins here, as they struggle to survive when everything burns around them. This wasn't supposed to happen. They were to stay here and play, not flee.Posted with the same title, this is the reworked work.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jon Arryn/Lysa Tully Arryn, Osha/Benjen Stark, Robert Baratheon/Cersei Lannister
Series: Dracarys [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783435
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Informations

Hello everyone!

As you can see, the series is back. This is the same work I posted, but I reworked it. The old work gets deleted as soon as the first chapter goes up.

My main reasons behind creating a new worksheet are simple, I think. I didn't like how I wrote the story, it got thrown around, characters did things way before they should have, I rushed through the chapters to always post on time and it was bad. I planned on rewriting everything, but I quickly realized that beginning a new work might just be easier for all of us. I say this because the story I have in mind is a long one. Like, a long-long one.

The other story: The children of Valyria, is basically a fanfiction of this work. What I mean under that, is that my friend like the main characters in this story, and wanted to know what could have happened had some of the things changed. She came up with the main idea and I posted it. What this means for this work is simple. They are two separate stories, only some personalities and pairings remain the same, but you will see as the story continues.

I don't know yet the schedule, as I have a few more fics to post, and if I stick with my main idea (to finish the stories in progress) I would never be able to post my other ideas. I will update this page once I figure out the time and such.

This is a work of fiction, and as such should not be taken as canon.

I wish you a good time, stay safe and healthy.


	2. Bran I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Yes, your eyes do not deceive you. The Dracarys-series is up and running.   
> I hope it was worth the wait, and sorry of any of you felt like I left everyone in the dark. Promise it won't happen again.

The cold wind felt nice against his heated skin, his fingers grabbing the cool stones, his legs pushing his body higher and higher up on the tower. His fingers hurt by the time he could place his bare feet on the window sill, climbing in the early morning perhaps wasn't his best idea yet. The sun still refused to show its glory, the warmness it brought was nowhere to be seen as of yet. He did miss it. It was nicer to climb when the stones were warm, his hands wouldn't freeze when touching them. But the sun meant light, and the light meant either the servants or his family. If the servants caught him, he could easily climb back to his room or disappear on the roof. His family on the other hand was different. His siblings would tell him to come down, then leave it at that. His lord father would send him to the Great Hall or take him there himself. But his mother would shout at him to come down this instant for he could break his neck.

Swinging himself on the gargoyles arm, he caught the protrusive edge of the upper window, his feet finally finding something to push from. With a jump, he was in the old room of the Broken Tower. Changing his position, so he was sitting on the ledge like he would ride a horse, Bran looked around the yard that laid at his feet. The only ones who were awake at this hour were the gatekeepers, he could see the guards that were stationed near the North Gate.

There were times when he wondered how could anyone be up at this point when the sun wasn't even up. Then again, he was sitting in the Broken Tower right now. Turning his head toward the main keep, he tried to see if Jon was up at this hour. He doubted it, his brother might have been an early riser, yet even he slept in sometimes. After Jon, the next one was either him or Rickon. His little brother was a babe in their eyes, and he would fall asleep after he woke. But once in every month, he would run through the corridors, waking up everyone in the process. Chuckling at the memory of, when his brother managed to sneak into their parents' room and pour flour on them when they were too tired to wake up to play with him. Bran would usually wake up after Jon had lit his fire, and would go to climbing. If he was fast enough, he could climb from his window to the Armory and back. Then he would break his fast with his family and head to the training yard. He stopped climbing after breakfast, more people who could catch him and it wasn't fun when his mother would make him spend the day with her. He did love his mother, but her idea of fun wasn't appealing to him.

Leaning back against the stonewall, he watched as the maids fetched water for the guards. Deciding to it was time climb down he jumped from his position and ran down the spiralling stairs, deciding to go back on foot, rather than climbing all the way. Just in case his mother decides to go on a walk.

If he was fast enough, he would have time to slip in before his sister woke and called for the maids. Sansa usually rose after him, Robb being the one who knocked on her door and call her down for breakfast. Sansa would always be prepared all lady-like as their mother wanted. Arya was the last of his siblings to arrive at the table, her hair would be a mess, she would either were her nightgowns or his breeches with Robb's shirt over her upper body. Mother would scold her, "It is unladylike to present yourself in such manner!" and her sister always, always had the same response. "But I'm not a lady!"

The last one to arrive for breakfast was always Theon. The ironborn could be found in his bed after even after the sun has reached its highest point. He heard from Robb that Theon spent most of his nights in Wintertown with ladies. And that he would drink until sunrise, that's why he was always so tired. Bran honestly refused to believe his brother, for the older might be japing with him. Until he decided to wake up the ironborn himself on a sunny summer day. He climbed from his window to Theon's, the older leaving it open just a little, making it easier for him to open it. He could still recall the horrifying shrieks of the girl, and the angry voice of Theon. The guards patrolling the hallways, busted in his lord father with them, sword in hand. That was the reason why Theon slept in every day. He wasn't allowed to bring back any women or girl to the castle.

Running past the houses that stood near the well, he ducked as one of the household guards approached. The man never noticed him, he was too tired to pay attention to a bush rustling. Peaking out of his hideout, he happily noted that the courtyard was empty. Running towards the Great Keep he ducked as more and more guards appeared, his feet now hurt from the cold. Catching sight of the door the servants used, he made his way toward it, his cheeks burning from the air.

"Brandon Stark!" He was found.

Turning his head to the right, he saw his mother and his father, both of them looking quite grumpy.

"Good morning Mother, Father!"

"Where were you? Where are your shoes? You could have caught a cold!" His mother spoke, her voice rising as the words left her mouth.

"You weren't climbing Bran, right?"

"I... Uhm..."

"Son, we have talked about this before. Come, before your feet froze off."

"Yes, Father." Following his father inside, his mother left to attend to her duties, he walked up to his room and found that he left his door slightly cracked and the wind had pushed his door wide open. Leaving the empty bed and used sheets for everyone to see.

Pulling on his boots he watched as the servants came in to make his bed, apologizing to them and to his father for making them worry. His father crouched down until he could see his grey eyes.

"Do you know why did we forbid you to climb on the walls?"

"Because it's dangerous. I could fall and break my neck, legs, back, or crack my head open." Answered Bran in a monotone voice.

"If you know it so well, why do you have to do it again and again?"

"I like climbing. It's not as dangerous as you and Mother make it out to be."

"Bran, we just want to keep you safe. It is our duty, to keep our children safe, that means you and your siblings. Please, from now on, stop climbing the walls."

"What if someone-"

"No. No climbing with our without a supervisor. Do you understand?"

"I do Father. I'm sorry. It won't happen again, I promise!"

His father raised his brows but said nothing. Standing up and heading down for breakfast, Bran pulling on his vest and following him, thinking about the promise he just made. It wasn't like he was in any danger, he made sure to hold and grip things tightly, and his feet were always secure. He won't fall. Ever. Turning around the corner he entered the hall. The servants were putting their food and water on the table, hurrying off to bring more and more.

"Good morning little brother. How have you slept?"

"Good morning Sansa. I think I slept well. You?" Sitting down next to her, Bran pulled up a plate and began filling it with food.

"I woke up before sunrise. Someone was knocking on my window. Do you have any idea who could have that been?"

"Erm... No. I-I was sleeping." Replied the young boy, shifting in his chair.

"Bran! You know that's dangerous! Do Mother and Father know?"

"They didn't see me climbing. I was just- I was just out in the courtyard!"

Sansa raised her brows at that, she, obviously didn’t believe him. Shrugging at that, Bran turned back to his plate and stabbed the meat with his fork. His stomach grumbled as he cut the meat into smaller pieces. His parents entered the hall, his lady mother planting a kiss on the top of his head, his father ruffling his hair before moving to his chair and taking his place. His siblings were all here, Rickon punching his plate with his spoon, their mother trying to stop him, but failing. Robb was sitting at the lower table today with Jon. He was surprised that Theon wasn’t with them, then again, he must have spent the night in the town. Picking another meat for himself, he saw that Arya was staring daggers at Sansa. Nothing new there.

Pushing the meat on his plate, he wondered how could he continue his climbing without being found. There wasn’t a man or woman who hadn’t known about his little adventures. He was quite good at hiding from them, they could only see him when he wanted to be seen but his parents had figured out where he went and how he got there. If he were to climb during the daytime, he would get caught by someone. Doing it early in the morning like he did today might have been a good idea, but he still got caught. True, he began climbing a little late today, he slept in and left his door open when he made sure that he was alone. He had lessons after breakfast, and those lessons usually took up his time, then he had to go and eat his lunch. His afternoons were free, but his brothers had begun teaching him archery and he didn’t want to miss those. They were always fun and even Theon enjoyed them. Last time both he and Robb got into a friendly race of who could shoot more arrows into the target without missing it. Jon stayed out of it, telling him instead what were their mistakes and how could he avoid them. He was still bad at it, his arrows not even touching the target yet they kept insisting that he was doing fine. That only left him with the option of the evening. What was, again not an ideal time. His mother would come into his room and tell him a story, then tuck him and leave. He could pretend to be asleep of course, but he didn’t know if she would come back later to check on him. She was doing that with Rickon, he knows that well, but would she do that to him as well? He might have to stick with the early morning.

“Aren’t you going to finish eating this Bran?”

“Hm? Oh, no, no. I’m full. I will be heading to my lessons.” Excusing himself from the table, Bran ran up the stairs and didn’t stop until he reached his room. Wondering what would the old master teach him this time, he rummaged through his drawer, trying to find an empty parchment.

Hoping that a half would do just fine for today, as according to both Robb and Jon, he would begin this year with the houses of Westeros, and luckily, they just happened to have a book about it. It wasn’t like he would learn all the houses this year, Maester Luwin would start him off with the houses in the north. They would focus on his homeland, and thankfully he heard enough from his father and siblings that he knew most of them.

Walking across the courtyard, watching as the servants ran around the yard, the hunters taking their bows and horses, leaving through the Northern Gate, Bran couldn’t help but think about when will he learn about the dornish houses and the houses in the Stormlands. His interest only grew , when his father told him about the legendary Sword of the Morning. Dorne was magical, from the rhoynar and their water magic to the Daynes and their white sword. He never told his father, but he wanted to travel there and explore the vast sandy lands of the last kingdom to join. As for the Stormlands, the ancestral home of the Baratheons fascinated him. There was talk about it, saying that Brandon the Builder had built it at the request of the Storm King in exchange for the king’s daughter. He doubted it, Reyna, the Bride of Fire, Brandon’s wife did not have a statue or any paintings about her, yet the story of how her flames consumed the Bolton army remained. No one knows how the Queen looked like, yet that didn’t stop him or his family from thinking about her and guessing.

Reaching the stairs of the Library Tower, Bran recalled what Jon had said about their sister and their experiences down in the crypts. But his older brother would dismiss them, saying they were but babes, toddlers and a mind of a three-year-old child is not something to be believed. It wasn’t until his sixth nameday, when Old Nan gifted him a direwolf bracelet, made of wool, that he asked Jon what had he seen. At first, he was reluctant, then Robb started talking about it. The three of them had spent a lot of time down there. Robb told him about the Warrior Lord. He remembers some of his advices and his older brother still held them to this day. Jon told him about the Kind Lady. Her touches were soft, her voice soft and warm. He asked for more, why did they stop going to the crypts.

Opening the door to the library, the memory of his brothers’ broken faces told him more than words ever could. Their sister’s disappearance happened ten years ago now, and his brothers stopped going down there, telling him to don’t think about their imaginations.

“Good morning Maester Luwin!” Greeting their old maester, Bran slipped in, closing the door behind his back. “I’m here for our lessons.”

“Ah, Lord Bran! I just picked up the book about the northern houses. Please sit down, we will begin shortly.”

Bran nodded and sat down near the first window, pulling out the parchment he brought with himself and his quill, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

Their sister’s name was Raya, she was the twin sister of Jon and their father’s daughter. He heard the story from the older guards, his lady mother, oldest sister and Raya had gone to the forest, picking up feathers and leaves for Sansa’s crown, when a group of wildlings attacked them. The guards found Sansa under a bush, their lady mother near her, bleeding from the wound, but not Raya. His father called a search, they searched for half a year but found nothing. Not even her body, clothes, anything. Mikken told him that Jon never was the same again.

“Well now, I have everything. Let’s begin our lesson.” The man sat down next to him, opening the book on the first house, House Stark. “We will begin with your house, then move from the north towards the south.”

“When will I learn about Dorne?”

“Dorne is the last of the kingdoms we will cover. We only started with Lord Robb and Jon this year. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just, I find their history interesting.”

“It certainly is. They have different customs than most of the kingdoms. But let us move on. Who was the founder of House Stark?” And so his lesson began, Maester Luwin testing his memory and correcting him when it was needed.

A raven cawed, Bran looking up from the book and trying to find the bird. It was sitting on the window sill, staring at him. It scared him, for the bird’s eyes were similar to those of theirs.

Eyes only people had.


	3. Theon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! :)
> 
> Another chapter up from this beauty. I decided that I would update as much as I can during summer, and hopefully, I can finish Book One by the time fall starts. I will take my time, don't worry, I won't have to start a new work again, I promise. I don't know if I will be able to finish though, but I will try it. What I do know, however, is that after the last chapter is posted, the next book will be up after a month. I will use that time to write as many chapters as I'm able to so that I don't have to worry about forgetting chapters. I will also use that time to catch up with my other stories (if they happen to be behind).
> 
> Hope that you are safe and healthy!

Waking up with his head wanting to split wasn’t a good sign, but he got used it during his years living with the Starks. He could now say that this was normal for him to wake up almost every day in his bed with his clothes smelling worse than the stables.

Theon groaned when the bright sun rays hit him in the eye, the cup on his nightstand flying as he tried to block the light by holding his arm up. The cup fell to the floor with a thud, and the boy silently thanked the god that he used wooden ones instead of metal or glass. If he were to break one, Lady Stark wouldn’t let it pass by.

Turning in his bed, he pulled the covers closer to his chest, lazily opening his right eye. The sun was high up in the sky now, he could easily tell that from the shadows in his room. He missed breakfast again. He promised Robb that he will go hunting with him today, but now he doubted that his friend would wait for him. He was probably gone with Snow.

Pushing himself up, his arm failed and he fell back to his bed, hitting the top of his head in the process.

“Damn you!”

Theon rolled over until he couldn’t feel the bed anymore, and put down his legs. His bare feet hurt against the cold stone floors. His rug was supposed to be there, on occasions like this to protect his feet from freezing.

Sitting up was harder than he imagined at first, his head pulsing and trying to fall down at the same time. Groaning in pain, Theon fell back to his bed, glaring at the ceiling in disgust.

His life hasn’t been the same ever since his father rebelled against the crown, six years after the end of the Targaryen dynasty. He was ten at the time, trying to escape from his older brothers and sister. They saw him as weak and called him a land walker even then. His father ignored him for the most part, only talking to him when he warned to behave or he will send him to the priests. His brothers would join in, taunting him when he failed at his lessons, and laughing when his leg got tangled in the ropes, causing him to go up with the sail.

Turning away from the ceiling, he faced his dresser and the small table he had in his room.

His sister’s smirking face flashing before his eyes. Asha was always out to prank him or make him look like a fool in front of their father. She would lock his chamber door, with him inside, and would refuse to open it up until he told her that she a better fighter then Theon. Other times, she would push him and get on him, holding his hands down and threatening to throw away his toys if he didn’t hand over his dessert for a week.

His brothers were worse. They volunteered to teach him how to use a sword, even when he protested that he had a perfectly good teacher they pulled him to the training yard and managed to break his arm and bruise his torso. They continued to beat him with their practice swords, poking his sides and hitting his back until their mother hadn’t arrived with their father by her side. She was furious at his older brothers, but not his father, never his father.

He was never angry at Rodrik, Maron and Asha, they couldn’t do anything wrong in his eyes. He was only angry at him. He tried, he really did, but his father wouldn’t pay him any attention. Even when he learned how to use a bow, his father rather took his brothers sailing.

The only one who loved him was his mother. She always helped him, talked with him and let him be a child. She encouraged him in his archery lessons and took him to her old home. His Harlaw grandfather liked him, told him that he had the smarts of his mother’s house and that he wasn’t as dumb as most Greyjoys. He was the one who had gifted him his old bow too. His grandfather told him that he got it from the Summer Islands and that a princess gave it to him when he saved her from the pirates.

He liked his mother’s family more than he did his father’s. Many of his uncles were dead before he was even born, having been murdered by his now exiled uncle, Euron. Or that what’s he believed in anyway. His only uncles that were alive are Victarion and Aeron. His uncle Victarion was the captain of the Iron Fleet, the third most powerful fleets of Westeros, yet Theon considered his uncle old and dumb. His uncle didn’t have children, his first wife dying in childbirth with the daughter she carried, the second dying in pox while the third was impregnated by Euron, and his uncle had beat her to death.

Pulling the covers on top of himself, Theon wondered if his uncle Aeron had thought about him. He was a priest and served the Drowned God since the rebellion. The ironborn had called him Damphair, not that he knew why. His uncle traveled across the islands, blessing ships, marriages, drowning men and women to be reborn. It was close to the time where many of the ironborn sought out the priests for blessings.

He forgot how most of his family members looked like. He hasn’t visited the Iron Islands or left the North ever since he was brought here. Lord Stark tried to talk to him, asking if he wanted to visit them, offering to take him there and bring him back. His offer was out of kindness, yet he couldn’t help feel that the man was taunting him. No one would have offered him this, not without wanting something in return. He told the man that he would think about it, but he hasn’t talked to him ever since that day. And that was three years ago now.

At first, he believed that his family would write to him. He imagined letter upon letters arriving at the rookery, his father demanding Lord Stark to let them visit and for him to come and spend time with them, but it never happened. He never has gotten a letter from his father, sister, not like he expected her to write, but after losing their older brothers, he hoped that she would be more willing to talk with him. His mother wrote to him every once in a while, but even her letter stopped two years ago. His grandfather, while was alive would send him gifts from where he had traveled. The old man was taken from this world when he was two and ten, he had contracted an illness never seen before, during one of his travels. According to his uncle Aeron, the only one form her close family who bothered to write to him, his grandfather’s skin became black as coal, his eyes turned white and yellow, his hair falling out of his head and his fingers bending in every direction. It must have been a cruel fate, having to witness that kind of death. After his grandfather’s passing, a letter came from his Harlaw uncle, telling him that his mother believed that her oldest sons were still alive and were traveling in Essos, while Theon himself went to sail the oceans to bring home a wife.

He would have to wait on sending his response letters back, for if he were to keep his mother alive and happy he would have to act like he was far away. His dear mother, who always there for him, told tales and sang when he was too scared to sleep went mad in her grief. And the worst part was that he couldn’t visit her.

Closing his eyes, he thought about the last days of the rebellion. He wasn’t allowed to leave the castle, he was restricted to his room with guards around him every hour. The news of Rodrik’s and Maron’s death was something he hadn’t expected. His brothers always seemed to escape from trouble, and his ten-year-old self couldn’t believe that his brothers who survived jumping from the highest point of their castle were now gone. He felt, even now, that they were too dumb and too stubborn to die, yet he saw their bodies hanging from the Baratheon and Lannister ships.

He was with his father when the king and his men broke into the Throne Room. If someone would ask him why was he frightened by warhammers his only response would be Robert Baratheon’s name. The man was scarier than the most vicious storms that sent the ironborns’ ships under the water. For a while, when he was imprisoned in the Casterly Rock dungeons, he thought that the Storm God favored the king, for his house was said to descend from the god himself. Now, he knew better.

The king was nothing more than a kinslayer and a fat, drunk, whoring fool, not that he would ever tell this to him. He spent more time in the bed of the whores than he did sitting on his throne. The man had more bastards than the whole Iron Islands had salt wives and thralls. At least he thought. The news rarely reached this far north, and when they did the people either picked it up or not. He wasn’t even sure if Lord Stark was talking about the same Baratheon anymore, whenever he mentioned them.

Pulling his legs up from the floor, he tucked them under the blanket for warmth. He had forgotten about them completely.

Turning his head around until he could see his window, he cursed when he saw that the sun was visible. That meant that the breakfast was over, and the lessons began.

Groaning from the realization that Lady Stark was probably making her way to his room now, Theon buried himself deeper into his bed. He didn’t want to deal with the woman while his head still hurt. He didn’t want to listen to her lectures, not now, not tomorrow not ever! She could make one’s life as miserable as she wanted, and she would probably get away with it. The Lady of Winterfell was a sour, old woman, not that he would complain. He was still treated better than Snow. The lad had it worse amongst the two of them. While Theon had a nice room, wood for the fire that the servants light up for him, he could come and go around the castle and he had access to the kitchens if he wished, Jon was treated by the old hag as a thrall, sometimes worse.

Grabbing the jug from his nightstand, he realized that he had thrown the cup from its place. Groaning again, he rolled on the bed, until his arms were off the edge of the bed, and he began to crawl for the cup. The tip of his right middle finger brushed against the wood, and with a final push, he finally had it in his hand.

Pushing himself back to the bed, he poured the water from the jug with his left hand, while he kept himself up with his right one.

The cold water felt nice against his throat, and for a moment he thought about jumping into the pound near the weir tree. But he wasn’t that much of an idiot, no matter what Snow liked to call him. He was smart and he wouldn’t be fooled by anyone. He was Theon Greyjoy, the Rightful Lord of the Iron Islands as his brothers were all dead and his father hadn’t taken another wife to wed. He was his father’s only son, and therefore he was the sole heir until his father didn’t produce another heir. If he were to die, his uncle Victarion would become the new lord, then his children if he has any and after that his sister. But he didn’t know if priests of the Drowned God could take up lordship. He hasn’t been home since he was ten, and that was a long time ago.

His thoughts shifted to Euron. Maybe his exiled uncle will be the next Lord Greyjoy after Theon passes? It mattered a little to him, no matter what happens his sister can’t inherit while he still lives, or there are male heirs. That was the law.

Pouring another cup of water, he kicked off his blankets.

Robb will support him and his claim no matter what. He was his true brother and not those who tortured him while they were alive. Lord Stark was more of a father to him than his own, and while the lady was nothing else but a pain in his rear area, he felt happier than he did on the Iron Islands.

Pulling on riding breeches and a tunic, Theon searched for his boots and left his room in a hurry. He had a friend to find and go hunting with.


	4. Bran II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> The story continues! Hope you liked this chapter!
> 
> Stay safe and healthy!

After finishing his lessons with Maester Luwin, Bran made his way back to his room, putting aside his parchment and running out to the training yard to find his brothers. He was waiting for this since his father told him that he was now old enough for his lessons.

Dashing through the hallway, Bran ducked under the arms of the maids and the guards, sidestepping them when they couldn’t see him, while they carried baskets full of sheets, clothes or food.

Feeling the cold air against his cheeks again did put a smile on his face. It was now much warmer than in the morning, not that he minded it of course. He may be a northerner and he may have lived his entire life so far up north, here in Winterfell, but that didn’t mean he liked the cold. He enjoyed the snow and loved playing in it, but he wasn’t that thrilled about it as his sister, Arya was. They would go out in the summer snows when the weather was warmer enough, but he couldn’t spend much time outside. His hands would become cold and it wouldn’t take long until they were red. Their lady mother always stood at the doorway when they played, looking over them and ushering them inside whenever she felt like that they were cold.

If their mother was otherwise occupied, they stayed outside for much longer. There was a time when all seven of them rolled in the snow and built castles and animals out of it. Theon had built an ironborn longship and he even tried to do a kraken on the Sea Chair. The throne truly looked like one, but the kraken reminded Bran of a really long tree with a few branches. When Theon added the eyes and the mouth of the kraken it was more like an ugly doll. The ironborn wasn’t amused by his words. Robb laughed with him, telling his friend that it was pretty enough for a doll.

Robb tried to form the snow into the Stark sigil. It looked more like a snake than a direwolf. Robb’s only response was to poke his raven in the side, making the raven have another eye and look like it has something on its face. Sansa had stopped them before they could destroy more of their works. Thinking about this memory now, he was sure that his sister was just afraid that they would kick over the snow Winterfell. Her efforts were for nothing when Rickon ran over all of their works. His little brother had jumped at Robb’s snake wolf-like creature, ran over Theon’s, rolled onto Bran’s and sat down on Sansa’s kicking his legs until all that was left behind was a pile of snow.

The four of them had all groaned while Rickon only laughed and kicked harder. Arya and Jon joined him, chuckling at their youngest brother’s antics. It was easy for them to do to, they both had built away from them and Rickon couldn’t reach them. At the end of the day, only Arya’s warrior queen and Jon’s dragon stayed untouched.

Hopping over the fence that separated the training area from the rest of the courtyard, Bran could now see his brothers and surprisingly enough Theon too. He wasn’t expecting the ironborn to show up, he would usually take off a day when he went into the town.

Looking over at the three of them, he noticed that the three of them were waiting for him.

“I’m here!” Yelling to the older boys, Bran picked up his bow and ran up to them. “We can start now!”

“Good morning Bran. Heard you were caught again climbing the Broken Tower.” Robb greeted him, ruffling his hair and handing Jon the target.

“It wasn’t my fault! I was careful and I watched where I was going!”

“Bran, we have talked about this. Father and Mother didn’t forbid it to annoy and upset you, they want to keep you safe.”

“I know. But I’m careful!”

“It doesn’t matter brother. Listen to Lady and Lord Stark. They just want their son to have a happy and long life.”

“But if one of you just-“

“It’s not safe Bran. Even if we watch you climb, you can still slip and fall.” Countered his sentence Jon and held out the first arrow.

“But I never fall. I’m always careful!”

Robb sighed and turned to face Theon. “Any help from you?”

“He is not my brother, Robb. If he wants to climb and break his neck, I say let him. Maybe if he can’t walk anymore he will think otherwise.”

“You aren’t helping Greyjoy.”

“I didn’t intend on it, Snow. Now be quiet, my head is killing me.” Theon sat under the fences, sneering at the sky and pulling his hood over his head.

“Bran, promise us that you won’t go climbing again.”

“Fine. I promise it, Robb.”

“Good, now hold that bow and try to hit the target.” Robb smirked, Jon just shook his head and stepped back, allowing Bran to have a bigger place.

“Calmly. We have all day. Concentrate on the target.” Jon advised him.

Bran took a deep breath then another one. Lifting the bow and placing the arrow onto the string, he pushed his left leg forward and pulled back the string.

Closing his right eye, he moved the tip of the arrow until it lined up perfectly with the middle of the target and let go of the back of the arrow.

The arrow buried into the ground a few feet away from them.

“Not bad. But try to pull the string back a lot more.”

“He also has to change his stance Robb, don’t forget that.”

“Right. Okay, here Bran.”

Robb lifted his arms into the correct posture, showing him how long did he have to pull back the string, while Jon placed his legs into the standard place.

“As time goes on, you will get used to it. You may also end up changing the stance a little bit. Everyone finds the correct way that’s easier for them to hold the bow and shot with it. Don’t worry, you will get it right.”

Bran nodded and sighed. Jon was right. He always was.

“Bran, don’t worry. No one starts their lessons like they know what they are doing. It takes practice.”

“A lot too.” Added Jon and his brothers stepped back again, watching him from the sidelines.

Bran raised his gaze again, his eyes pinned to the target. It wasn’t a small one yet, and it only had three circles on it. The middle, the outer side and the inner one. It was the size of his upper body, the inner red dot the size of his fists.

Relaxing his shoulders, Bran watched as the branches danced in the soft breeze, the leaves from the trees flying away with it.

Taking in a deep breath, he focused on the target. He will have to pull the string back as powerful as he could. The bow won’t break, neither will the string.

A bird flew away from behind and rested on the fence near his brothers.

Lifting the boy again, he made sure to keep his right leg back and bent, his left foot facing forward and the target, as straight as it could be. He could feel the arrow next to his face, the feathers tickling him as he pulled it back until he couldn’t anymore.

Someone coughed behind his back, but he paid no mind to it. Only keeping his eyes on the inner circle.

Blowing out the air from his lungs, he closed his right eye again and moved the tip towards the center of the board, only this time, he pushed it a little upward.

A crow cawed somewhere, followed by the sound of branches hitting the side of the stone wall.

Bran let go of the arrow at that moment, keeping his hands and legs in the same position until he could see the arrow again.

He heard the happy voices of Robb and Jon from the sides, and only then did he look.

He had hit the target!

The arrow was buried into the top of the target, even upper than the outer circle, but he hit it! He did it!

“Good job brother!”

“I say it was better than the first one.”

“Of course it was Robb. He hit the target.”

Bran smiled from ear to ear as he listened to his brothers bickering with each other. Both of them were happy because his second shot has been successful and even Theon seemed to lift his head from his post.

“But, you still have a long way to go. I think you should practice. We will be here training with our swords.”

And just like that, Robb pulled Jon away towards the open area and pushed a practice sword into his hand.

Bran grinned and grabbed another arrow from the holder, taking up the same position he was in before, with much less grace than he did before.

He didn’t take that long this time before he let go of the arrow. He repeated this until the holder was empty. Running up to the target he counted his arrows.

Out of thirty arrows, eight ended up in the dirt, four in the walls, two and ten in the target and the rest, he couldn’t seem to find.

Gently pulling out the arrows from their places, Bran let his mind wander and return to the raven. Maester Luwin had seen the raven and even heard it, it couldn’t be just his imagination. The bird clearly had three eyes, yet his teacher somehow didn’t notice it and when Bran told the old man about it, he only raised a brow and asked him if he was feeling ill.

He wasn’t ill nor was he hard-headed!

His eyes were perfectly fine, he could see better than Maester Luwin and most of the servants, guards and his family. He saw the bird and it had three eyes. He didn’t know why was only he able to see it though, and the tales Old Nan told him about made him shiver. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was just the light. Yes, yes. It was merely the light that tricked his mind. It was simply that.

Grabbing another of the arrows, Bran suddenly stopped. Pictures appeared in his head, bloody and gruesome ones of his family. Just barely, before they faded, he was able to see his father in the dark. But when he tried to touch him, his hands only brushed against the stone wall.

Just what happened?

“Bran, are you alright?” Jon’s concerned voice broke him out of this trance. His brother had come up to him, his face only showing worry.

“Y-yes. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You were staring at the wall for a while now.”

“I’m sure. I just…” What happened to him? He couldn’t remember what had him stare at the wall. “I just got lost in my thoughts that’s all. I was trying to find out where had I shoot the rest of my arrows.”

From Jon’s raised brows, he knew that his brother didn’t believe him. But Jon didn’t press him, and for that he was thankful. How would he explain to his brother that he saw something but can’t remember it? He would think that Bran is mad!

Jon left him, picking up the rest of his arrows he couldn’t see and handed it to them before walking back to Robb, his head shaking from side to side.

Bran stared at his brother’s back until Jon picked up his sword again and both Robb and he started their fight. Shaking his head again, he returned to his place and concentrated on the target.

So far, he could only get two and ten arrows into it, but all of them barely hit the target and he couldn’t get one into the outer circle either. Deciding to get all thirty arrows into the target, no matter where they land, Bran was determined to show his brothers and Theon, that he was just as good with the bow as they were. If he was aiming to become a knight, he would have to be the best one. He might even join the Kingsguard, like Barristan the Bold, Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning and Jaime Lannister.

Letting go of the first arrow, he watched with glee as it hit the edge of the red circle. One down, nine and twenty more to go.

He had practiced his archery until the bells rang. Taking a break and looking around, Bran found that the sky was turning into a darker color, the sun just barely visible through the wall of Winterfell.

Turning around, he saw Theon by the fence in the same position he was in. He appeared to be sleeping, and the snorts that were coming from his direction confirmed this. He pulled out his arrows, this time only three ended up in the dirt or the wall, and Bran was more than happy with his process.

He would tell Robb and Jon at dinner, as he couldn’t seem to find them anywhere near the training yard. Their swords laid on the ground near the armory, but the two of them were nowhere to be seen.

Placing his arrows back into their places, he decided to find his brothers instead of having another go at the target. There’s always tomorrow.

Choosing a direction, which happened to be the direction of the crypts, he glanced at Theon for the last time. The ironborn was sleeping, his cloak hugging his body as he slept on the ground.

Shaking his head again, bran walked towards the crypts, humming an unknown melody under his breath the whole time.

This day just couldn’t get any more stranger than it already was.


	5. Jon I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! :)
> 
> New chapter with a slightly depressed Jon. You get to see how he has been already changed.  
> I won't be near my laptop this weekend much, we have a wedding in our yard and I have to be present, unfortunately. Therefore the Cov chapter might end up being posted next week. Also, I'm still working on the update schedules, but so far it's a disaster. XD  
> Anyway, I will write CoV, as I have everything planned out fo that now, and I have more motivation for it, but! I will be doing this work to. The updates will just come out slower, twice a month as I originally intended. I may post more, as these ones are shorter, but I have to make sure to include everything and post the POVs as it should be read.  
> I will also go on a minivacation from the 13th to the 26th, and I think I will be able to post.
> 
> Anyways, here is the chapter, hope you like it. Stay safe and healthy!

When Jon woke up that morning, he knew that some things were about to change. He felt as if something had shifted last night, the morning air seemed thicker than usual, and the wind outside blew from southeast. What, in itself wasn’t that strange, as the wind did blow from there, but not this time of the year. The wind that came from south and southeast was always warm and wet, and it usually signaled that the winter years were over; they could now breathe freely and didn’t have to worry about the cold anymore. But they were in the middle of a spring year, almost summer, and the winds that arrived came from east and northeast. They would be colder winds, what did come in handy when Jon looked at it. When they were in the cold, the warm breeze was a blessing, as it made everyone in the north hopeful that spring can arrive now any day. And when they were in the spring, mostly summer heats, the cold was welcomed too.

But the wind wasn’t coming from east or northeast. No, it had been coming from southeast. From the direction of Essos and Sothoryos. He wondered what could it mean, maybe this year’s summer was to be a long one, maybe it signaled that the world began to end, who knows. Certainly not him. What small he knew was from Old Nan, when the woman was telling him tales and legends, how in the old days the First Men, the Children and the Giants knew what season was coming.

Jon kicked the covers off of himself and pushed himself up, grunting when the pain in his chest returned. He had that aching pain inside of him, like something was ripped out from him, taken away but it was alive. He felt the feeling move around, shaking his head as he always did when it came to this.

He felt the pull too, that familiar feeling what pulled him towards the crypts almost every day. Yet they weren’t showing him his sister anymore, they either took him to his aunt’s statue or to the old one. The one of the Lady and Lord, or Queen and King, as it was crumbling stone now. The same statue that appeared in his dreams, the figures would move, but this was only a dream. And nothing came from dreams anyways.

He was rather harsh with it, he supposed, often finding himself berating the ones who believe in them. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. Dreams were nothing but sugarcoated lies. Nothing but a form of denial. He hated most of his dreams, the ones that showed him what couldn’t be, what would never be. But he dreamt of something else too, and he liked those ones better than anything. Because they didn’t try to show him something, he knew he couldn’t get back.

Flinging his legs over the edge, he began thinking when did he start to hate dreams. It was a quick answer, most of the changes came from the day his father’s men couldn’t find his sister. It always went back to that. And Jon would brood over it forever.

Standing up and walking around the room, he picked up his clothes from yesterday’s practice. His tunic had a small hole in it where Robb had slashed at him, but it would do for now.

The sun wasn’t up yet, and he had time to think about today. He and Robb spared yesterday, and they tried to teach their brother archery. Greyjoy was no help, he was too sleepy and had a nasty hangover, according to him anyway and just slept through the day. They had left him in the yard to sleep it out, and both Robb and he went around the castle to search for Sansa’s lost bracelet. The only thing that was left of his sister was six bracelets that were made by her long ago.

Jon found it funny how all of his siblings wore them, even when only three of them knew her. Well, Sansa was still small, only a year old and she had possibly forgotten about Serena now. The only ones who remembered her were Jon, maybe Robb, their father, Lady Stark and some of the older servants. How did her sister manage to braid six bracelets when she only knew the three of them was beyond him. But he won’t question it, there were stranger things happening to him throughout his life, and this wouldn’t be the last.

Opening his door and stepping outside, his nose picked up on the smell of freshly baked bread and cooking meat. His legs carried him to the kitchens, making him pass his sister’s old room. He usually took other, longer routes to the kitchens, but this day was different since he woke up. Might as well do something different.

His mind wandered off, thinking about the endless ways his life might have been different had Serena lived. He would pester his father to let him try and get knighted, or he would travel to Essos and be a sellsword. His sister would come to, he would refuse to leave her behind, and they could just exist.

Opening the kitchen doors he greeted Gage, the man slightly dipping his head and continued his work, Jon grabbed a plate from the shelves, taking off the lids of the meals that would be served at midday. Pulling out a smaller loaf of bread, he went to the table where the meat was getting prepared.

Today’s breakfast looked good. Boar, stag and deer. Arya will jump in joy, he was sure.

Arya… The only sister he had that didn’t despise him, the only sister that looked like his sister. This wasn’t true, only partly. Sansa never said that she hated him, but she didn’t say that she accepted him fully. She tolerated him, let’s put it that way.

Would she be different had Serena lived? Would Arya be different? There were questions like these and he didn’t have an answer for them. He would love his sisters, even if they didn’t love him back. Family was family, and the wolves always stuck together.

But he wasn’t a wolf now, was he? He wasn’t a Stark like Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon. He was a Snow, something Greyjoy liked to remind him of. And he wasn’t sure if he was still family. Sure, his father made sure to tell him that he was his blood, but nothing else. Nothing else that mattered to him.

Taking his full plate to the Great Hall, he found that many of the things didn’t matter to him anymore. That didn’t come from his sister’s death, he was sure about that. Maybe he was just tired, tired of hearing the same excuses over and over again from people.

Should he try and ask again? Would he get a simple, yet straight answer? He would be satisfied with a simple she is alive, or she didn’t care. Their mother, as he refused to refer to the woman as his mother, still hoping that his sister would walk past the gates and they would be reunited, was a topic his father hated to talk about. Always saying that when he was older, he will talk about her. Always the same excuses.

He sat down at the end of the hall, far away from everything and everyone. Just him and his thoughts this time.

He twisted his own bracelet around his wrist, on his left as Old Nan said that was the place closest to the heart. It was a white wolf with red eyes. Red like fire, red like blood.

He heard the door open and was surprised to see Arya walking into the hall, half asleep still, but she carried a plate with her. She saw him, changing directions immediately with a smile on her face.

He knew that smile too, the smile that meant that she will try and spend all her day with him. He did love that smile, there were few of them in the north, well, few that were genuine and fewer that were directed at him.

Arya sat down beside him, her hair all messy and her face a little dirty.

“Good morning sister. How are you?”

“Tired. I could never understand how are you up so early in the mornings.” She yawned, not bothering to hide her mouth.

“I got used to it. But why are you up so early?” Jon asked the same question, taking a bite out of his bread.

“I know what day it is. And I know how you always act, and I want to be here!”

Hearing the dedication in her sister’s voice didn’t surprise Jon as much as it did. Arya was a powerful force, one that could both destroy and protect. His little sister was also good at reading him, she knew him better than anyone else did. And she wanted to know more about Serena.

“And that’s why you are up?”

“Yes. You are always so sad when this day comes around.” Arya looked at her breakfast. “I want to know her. I feel that I should do.”

“Very well. Once we are finished here, I will tell you all about her.”

“Truly?” Arya’s face lit up, her eyes shining up at him. “You will tell me everything?”

“Truly. It will be…” _Nice to talk to someone else about her. Someone who actually wants to keep her memory alive and not forget her._ “I think she will like the company.”

“Thank you, Jon. I know that it’s hard for you. Robb said that he always goes there when you are not there. To not burden you.”

Jon was taken aback. Was Robb really going there? If so, why not tell him? He knew how much it meant to Jon.

“I didn’t know that he visited her.”

“You didn’t? But you two are always together!”

Jon had to chuckle. That was true, partially. He and Robb did spend time together, but it would soon come to an end. He could feel it.

“That doesn’t mean anything Ari. We don’t talk much about her. Not anymore.” Jon tried to keep the sadness out of his voice.

“Why? She was our sister too! Just like Sansa or I. That’s not fair.”

“Life is not always fair little sister.”

Arya puffed her cheeks. “I don’t understand. If I die, or someone I care about dies, I would want to remember them.”

“That’s you. There are few who think that way.” Jon finished his breakfast, he still felt the emptiness in his chest but he didn’t care. He will deal with that later.

“What was she like?” Arya asked, obvious to Jon’s previous comment.

“She was, she was like you. I think.”

“You think?”

“We were young Ari. Only four.” Jon sighed. Maybe agreeing to this wasn’t his best idea.

“Oh, I didn’t know! I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine. She was, like you. Free and wild.”

“I think I would have loved her. Well, I mean, I love her but knowing her like I like know you is different.”

“And she would have loved you too. She was… She was smiling a lot, telling me that there was always something that deserved a smile.”

“She was that happy?” Arya pushed her plate away, resting her chin on her elbows.

“Aye, she was. She was kind, and she wanted to help everyone.”

Arya listened to his words, as he told her more about the sister she never got to see. But in truth, Jon didn’t know her either now, did he? They were toddlers, young and small with a bad memory. It was impossible to know someone that way. Yet he couldn’t help but tell Arya anything he thought about her. But if he was honest with himself, he couldn’t even remember how she looked like. How she sounded like.

In his dreams, the ones he hates with passion because they always show him something that could never be, Jon sees his sister. But she isn’t alone. She is with people and they are all waving to him. Their faces are all blurry, their voices broken, yet he sees that they are smiling.

At first, Jon only saw his sister. Her appearance would change from dream to dream. In one, she would have whitish hair and dark blue, maybe purple eyes. In others, she would look like him, like Arya. Then there are those where she has blue hair. Those, he knows straight away that are dreams. Then slowly, more and more people started to appear next to her many of them have disappeared now, but one stayed with her. One boy, at least that’s how Jon sees them. Then the girl, always in skirts, the other that appears wears breeches or something like that. Finally, the two young boys, around Arya’s age. Maybe older.

For some time now, the six of them remained, looking at him and calling to him, yet he couldn’t understand anything.

He looks back at Arya, her sister hanging onto every word that leaves his mouth, and he finds it strange. To speak without knowing and hearing what you speak and think at the same time was something new to him.

“Let’s visit her, shall we?” In the end, he asks her this, knowing the answer already.

“Yes! Should I bring her something?”

“Whatever you feel like. I know that she will like it.”

Jon grabs their plates, bringing them back to the kitchen. Arya follows him, skipping along the way as they go. He could hear as she hums a song, a song Old Nan sings when she works, a song Serena used to croon when they were in the dark.

They leave the keep, heading to the crypts. On their way, they see Robb and Theon, both are smiling and jesting around. But Jon only walks forward, for if he looks back he isn’t sure if he can continue.

They enter the crypts, the cold and damp air swarming them, but they press forward, walking side by side in silence, only stopping when they see the headstone. There are no statues, but Serena is lying next to their aunt, it’s hard to miss.

Jon feels the pressure lifted from his chest. Perhaps it is shame and anger he feels. But that doesn’t matter. Not while he is here.

He looks at the name and date, knowing that it hadn’t changed. But he hopes. That’s the only thing that remains for him.

He was right. The air did change. And as he looks at the stone, ever so dead, he feels that he will see her again. Soon.


	6. AUTHOR'S NOTE, PLEASE READ

Hey everyone, it's been a while huh.

I have bad news and good ones, and I think you all know what am I trying to get at. Before you continue on, I'm sorry if you are disappointed with me, believe me when I didn't want to end this story like this. Anyways, the bad news is, I will not continue this story. I know where I want to go, and I have most of the things down, I just... Lost touch with the story, and right now, I don't want to write with not even a half-heart in place. I hope you understand my decision regarding this. If you only followed me for this work, I'm sorry to tell you that I won't be giving it away or mark it as abandoned, as it is my first child, and I want to come back to this story when I have most of the things under control. I won't delete it, you don't have to worry about that.

On the other hand, I won't feel that terrible about not uploading this story, and I won't suck the bad end of a bet (see, the Daemon/Aemond smut I had to write as punishment) and I have a little bit more time on my hand.

As you know/read before, I'm a university student, and with the current pandemic going on again, I have hybrid lessons, meaning I have to go to the campus at 8, but be home to attend my online lesson at 10. And distance is something to account for. Because of this, I can't and won't promise constant updates for any of my fics. I'll write and work on the chapters, and upload them, but in the future, I plan on switching methods, basically, I'll pre-write everything, or most of the things, and then post them, as contored to how I do it now.

I have a lot of ideas in plan, and I have written down almost all of them. Without this main series (it was to be 11 books long, with more than a hundred chapters for each book), I still have six stories I want to write and post, one long one-shot Targcest smut series, and countless others. And as you guessed, my time management skills are terrible.

For that reason, I have come up with a mostly good idea. I want to finish _A dragon and his hatchlings_ this week (the last chapter will go up this week if I can count good), alongside with that, I plan on to post three, maybe four one-shots. Again, because of the constant changes in my lesson schedule, I can't promise, and won't promise anything.

As far, as I could get it to work in my head, I'll worry about uni from Monday to Wednesday (as those are the days most of my lessons are held), and occasionally, I'll add Thursday too, if I'm not finished. That means, I have three whole days to work on my stories, and a half day. That's not a lot of time, but thankfully, I have a phone, and can write one-shots from it.

My goals/ What I want to accomplish before Fall Break:

  * Have _'A dragon and his hatchlings'_ finished
  * Have the four one-shots posted
  * Write a chapter for each of my posted work (Children of Valyria, Conqueror's Daughter and Valyria's Fire)
  * Be near the finishing stages of Conqueror's Daughter - this means, that I want to have at least 7-8 chapters posted before the month ends, as the story is short.
  * Start planing the Targcest smut series
  * Start writing down the other works, and count chapters for them
  * Have 20 chapters draft for CoV on my laptop, and at least 5 for VF



Again, this is a lot, and I might disappear for a week or two, but I won't leave any of you without a message.

I can't think of anything else to say, other than take care of yourself.


End file.
